


Wake Up ==>

by TemperanceReversed



Series: Brave New World-A Homestuck AU [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Broken Hearts, Mentions of Character Death, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of execution, broken diamonds, but nothing like canon levels of violence, like that is literally the whole point, mentions of helmsman installation, original Ancestor names
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 05:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10757823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TemperanceReversed/pseuds/TemperanceReversed
Summary: The new world wasn’t anything like they’d expected. It was a chance to start over.





	Wake Up ==>

**Author's Note:**

> A post-game au where instead of walking into a new world inhabited by carapaces, the game resets Earth and the Ancestors and human adults raise their descendants/dancestors/whatever the kids are. Welcome to the first fic, AKA everybody needs therapy in order for this to work...  
> If you notice weird tenses, I apologize, I never write in second person.  
> Note: Having ancestors and pre-scratch trolls have the same name makes this confusing so original ancestor names ahoy!  
> I'm sick of looking at this so, here it is. The second chapter is on the way...  
> As always self-beta'd,

Be ???? ==>

It is warm, soft and bright, nothing too unusual considering your dream bubble is your desert camp. You snuggled down into your pillow pile intending to continue sleeping when you heard the wail. You shot up, fully awake, and looked around.

You were inside a hive, the respiteblock you were in was decorated to your tastes. Light was streaming in from the window, dancing through the gauzy red curtains across the soft grey rug. You got up off the sleeping platform, sending pillows tumbling to the floor, and wandered over to the reflection pane on the wall.

You look normal, hair askew like always, horns where they were supposed to be, yellow eyes barely starting to show red looking back at you. You blinked, and when your eyes didn’t change, you look down. Past the slight ache in your side, down at your wrists, finally registering the dull ache coming from them, spotting bloodied bandages. Gently, you unwrap one. Air hit the un-healing burn and you bit back a pained cry as memories came flooding back.

You are Kristè Vantas, The Sufferer, The Signless, and you are alive.

Be ?? ==>

 It is warm, soft and bright, something was beeping and someone was crying. It was the warm and soft that threw you, nothing had been warm and soft since before _he_ died. Your sleeping body tensed in preparation of a pre-programmed punishment that didn’t come. You shot upright, the motion too fast, causing your head to spin. You were inside a hive, not a ship. You looked around the respiteblock, slightly basking in the ability to see, done in black and what you’ve been told is yellow, the beeping was coming from a husktop on the dresser. You got up from the sleeping platform and wandered over to it, catching sight of yourself in the reflection pane.

You look…healthy, something you haven’t been since _him_. Your hair is sticking straight up from sleep, the tips of your longest horns barely peeking out from it, you flatten it down and see both sets of horns before it decides to stand up again. Your eyes stare back at you the whole time, one blue, one red, just like they’re supposed to be. You practically shred the sleeves of your shirt trying to get to your arms, moving fabric out of the way to find what you were looking for, a quick check of your legs confirms it. The connectors are still there, just waiting for you to be reinstalled.

You are Caylyx Captor, Her Helmsman, _His_ Psiioniic, and you are alive.

Be a different troll ==>

It is warm, soft and bright, there is no sound of the waves crashing against the hull of your ship, or the squeaking of sail pullies, in fact there is no noise related to your ship at all, just crying. You growled and sat up. You did a double take at the room you were in. This was not your ship, it wasn’t a ship at all.  The room was well decorated, as suited a troll of your status, violet and gold and extremely expensive. It would be nice, if you had any clue how you got here. You got up off the bed and went over to the mirror.

You look like you slept on the deck, so you take a moment to fix yourself. You now look normal, the twin scars that gave you your name are still there, your face is in one piece and not on that indigoblood’s clubs, by extension your horns are where they belong. You find yourself with a massive headache in the area where the club connected.

You are Cesarè Ampora, Orphaner Dualscar, and you are alive.

Be ? ==>

It is warm, soft and bright, there is music playing from somewhere and a soft honking underneath it. You stretch, finally having room to do so, and open your eyes. You are in a large tent, black and indigo striped, with a fire burning in the middle, venting out through a hole in the top. You have room to stand up, and not knock the fabric with your horns. The tent is furnished like a bedroom, you notice as you take advantage of the room and stand. Your mirror takes up a corner made by a tent wall, dividing the tent into at least two rooms. You go over to it.

You aren’t wearing your makeup and your hair looks like a squawkbeast tried to make a nest with it.  It will remain like that until you can find someone you trust to help you fix it. There is an empty Faygo bottle stuck on one of your horns, which you remove. It’s not a flavor you particularly care for, it reminds you too much of _him_.

You are suddenly wracked with guilt. You betrayed him, your diamond. You let _her_ take him from you. All you could do for him was a mercy killing.

You throw the Faygo bottle at the mirror hard enough to shatter it, just like your diamond.

You are Xander Makara, The Grand Highblood, the worst moirail ever, _his_ moirail, and you are alive.

Be ??? ==>

It is warm, soft and bright, you are awoken by someone crying in another block. You stretch and bare your fangs as you awaken fully. You are in a hive, the respiteblock you are in reminds you of your first hive, with your lusus. You stand from your pile and walk over to the reflection pane.

Your hair is a mess, you think you see a literal squawkbeast in it, you can’t see your horns through it. You have a smudge of ink on your face where you fell asleep working on your book…on _his_ book. You have dried olive tears on your face from the nightmare you woke up from. Your book is safely next to your pile, but you check anyway. They burned it before, alongside _him_.  Your fingers trace the line of a necklace _he_ made for you and you have to choke back tears, the nightmare too fresh.

You are Leona Lejion, _His_ Disciple, _his_ broken matesprit, and you are alive.

Be another troll ==>

It is warm, soft and bright, and you do not like it at all. You have been woken up by someone moving around the hive. You are hungover and do not want anything to do with that. You drag yourself out of bed and towards the bathroom, catching sight of yourself in your vanity mirror.

You look like something the mewbeast dragged in, there is a trail of pale cerulean drool down your chin and your hair looks like you tried catch a seadweller in it. You take a moment to fix yourself as best you can without a shower. Your torso hurts alongside your head and you just want to die.

You double over with sudden nausea as you remember how you did die.

After it passes you shower and get dressed, on your way back to your room, you see the perpetrator of the noise and about face out of the hive.

You want nothing to do with that.

You are Spinneret Serket, Marquise Mindfang, and you are alive.

Be an even different troll ==>

It is warm, soft and bright, and you are still asleep, dead to the world. Nothing short of the Empress herself (or your moirail) knocking at your door is going to wake you up, certainly not the carrying on in the other room. You are exhausted, you have been exhausted since you begrudgingly took over the hunt for the mutant, forced to yield results.

Your room is tastefully decorated for one of your caste, your bows are hung with care upon the walls around your mirror.

If you were to look at yourself, you would see that the lines of stress and guilt are gone, the hair you pulled out in your self-loathing attacks has grown back, the scars your moirail inflicted in her grief are healed.

You are Colton Zahhak, The Expatriate, Executor Darkleer, and you are alive.

Be yet another troll ==>

It is warm, soft and bright, you are awoken by a tinkerbull landing on your chest. It flits away as you sit up, out the open window. You are in a hive, the door out of the respiteblock you are in is both tall enough and wide enough for you to use comfortably. You hear a shuffling in another block. You get up, heading for the door. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection pane.

The tired lines around your eyes are gone, your shoulders no longer slump under the weight of a second failed revolution. Your wings flutter behind you, stirring up a snuggle plane from under the sleeping platform. Your hair needs cut, and you can’t help but see cerulean blood in it.

You feel immensely guilty for everything you’ve done.

You are Nathan Nitram, The Summoner, and you are alive.

Be another troll again ==>

It is warm, soft and bright, and you have woken up with a crick in your neck to two voices screaming. You look around the room, it is laid out in an easily accessible manner, and decorated to your tastes. You get out of bed to deal with the screaming, snatching your glasses off the bedside table.  You catch your reflection in your mirror.

You are tired, having been woken up prematurely, your glasses hide the worst of it. As you stretch the crick out of your neck you notice the scar around it. You touch your fingertips to it, and pure platonic hate wells up in you.

You had such a promising career in front of you; cut short by that _bitch_.

You are angry.

You are Justina Pyrope, Neophyte Redglare, and you are alive.

Be a different troll yet again ==>

It is warm, soft and bright, a far cry from the cold, dark and hard you had gotten used to. You are already awake, awoken by the soft cry of a wriggler in another block. The respiteblock you are in resembles the one in your old hive, from long ago. If you didn’t know better, you could convince yourself that he’s the one crying in the other block, but you do know better. You know he’s waking up in his own hive, with his own wrigglers, safe, because you felt this world come into being. You get up off the sleeping platform and check your appearance in the reflection pane.

You look like you did when you found him, no worry lines, no permanent look of despair. Your horns sit gracefully where they belong, no longer chipped from being brittle from not eating out of grief, your eyes a vibrant jade green, full of life.

You are Rosa Maryam, The Dolorosa, _his_ mother, and you are alive.

Be another troll one more time ==>

It is cold and dark, intermittently lit by flashing red emergency lights. You can see just fine, you can see in darkness darker than this, but the lights are disorienting. You are sitting in the navigation block of your ship, beneath an empty helmsman’s interface with your 2x3dent on the floor in front of you. You have been trying to turn the damned emergency lights off for hours. It is useless without your helmsman.

You have lost everything. You can hear two voices crying in fear somewhere else in the ship, like every sound is directed here to torture you.

You are Her Imperious Condescension, and you are alive, and you are _pissed_.

Be a different troll one last time ==>

It is cold and dark. You have no concept of time here, which troubles you, who has time dancing at her finger tips. You have left behind your bloodline and your friends.

You have given it all up for them to have a new world.

You are Amarra Megido, The Handmaid, and you are not alive.


End file.
